Silence
by Claire Jones
Summary: A very short oneshot. Robin muses over the loss of her faith while she and Amon flee from Solomon.


_The following drabble is based on the series WHR owned by Sunrise and Badai._

Author's Note. Originally, I had written this piece for another fanfiction, but I found that the style didn't quite fit. I liked the way it flowed and decided to upload this as a one-shot drabble.

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She had felt most at peace with her life while living in the Italian convent. It was the only place she had ever considered home. She truly believed at the time that becoming a nun was her life's desire. However, she knew even from a young age that it would never come to pass. She possessed a powerful gift. Her fire craft had emerged when she'd been but a small child. Even then she had noticed some of the other nuns regarding her in fear. She had often wondered why this could be. How were they afraid of a small child? She had her answer now. She was not just any witch, but an immensely powerful one with the ability to change the future of witches and humans alike. Still, despite knowing this, part of her wondered what was really so frightening about herself. Yes, she had a powerful craft, but she was far from the out of control and power hungry individuals she had hunted as an agent of Solomon.

She sat alone in the second row of pews in the Orthodox Church consumed with these heavy thoughts. This church was not nearly as ornate as she had come to expect from her travels in Russia, but it was still far more decadent than one found in Catholic churches. Hadn't the Orthodox use of icons and ornate decorum been one of the issues that initiated the schism? She couldn't recall for certain, but it sounded right.

Part of her wondered how she had fallen so far this quickly. She had fled with her guardian to the frigid and icy lands of the Russian Federation in hopes of carving out a new life for themselves. Beyond that, the rest had yet to be resolved. Further, she lived everyday in dread, full of fear that Solomon would eventually find them. Hunt them. As the train carried the two away from Japan towards the city of Moscow, her faith gradually fell to the ground in pieces with every kilometer traveled.

Today, the young woman hadn't come for prayer or confession. She didn't understand why she still felt the need to escape to the comfort of a church. It was not to find solace. Perhaps it was to remember why she had wanted to live life in a nunnery in the years before she became a witch hunter. Before she met Amon and later discovered she was a witch after all.

Witch. She had been taught to believe witches were evil creatures fallen from God's eyes by their own doing. Solomon then trained her to use the gift of fire against such evils. She had willingly and obediently followed the organization's orders until the fateful day she met the old witch Methuselah back in the walled city. It had been before the old Inquisitor had come to Japan and decided she was a witch.

Inquisitor. The only thing separating witches from witch hunters was a decision made by one person. That single judgement determined if one lived or died. Even as a witch hunter, she had believed that this procedure was questionable and unjust. She knew now she was right.

She had always felt at peace inside a church, but with a pang of sadness, she knew that chapter of her life was finished. Her faith, as well as her whole way of living, had ended with the discovery of her true existence. It was unfair that it should be like this for one so young.

The dark figure stood observing the girl from the rear of the church. He found it heartbreaking that all he could do was stand by and watch her faith disintegrate. That faith had previously served as her solitary anchor while she journeyed through life. It had guided her as she grew up without a family, helped her as she trained to become a witch hunter, and finally supported her when Solomon sent her alone to Japan. It had now abandoned the young woman, and left him struggling to pick up the pieces in its wake. Part of him despaired as he watched her slowly become jaded like he had years earlier, making him wish he could do something to comfort and guide her through this trying time. He knew, however, there was nothing for him to say that would ease the cloak of sorrow from her wearied shoulders.

Amon approached Robin and sat down at her side. Without a glance her way, he leaned forward and placed his forearms on the pew in front of him. Robin didn't look at him either. Instead, she remained with her eyes focused straight ahead. They sat in silence, commiserating their misery and frustration at the situation.

They remained this way for nearly half an hour until Robin stood, signaling her intent to leave. Amon rose in response and stepped aside for Robin to exit the pew. He watched her walk away between the aisles of pews towards the exit without a backward glance. Amon hesitated to gaze back towards the cross suspended from the ceiling before turning to follow the young woman out of the church.


End file.
